Page 73 of An Unfinished Story
“What kind of jobs?” Claire asked.
“A little bit of everything. Cleaning windows. Picking up trash. Washing our cars. Oliver was only eleven or twelve or something. So he wasn’t a huge help, but he was a good kid, under the circumstances. From what David told me, Oliver had been dealt a pretty bad hand.”
Whitaker stepped in. “How long was Oliver hanging around here?”
Eliza lifted a shoulder. “Not long. A few weeks. I’m surprised David never mentioned him to you.”
Claire’s voice cracked. “I am too.”
Everyone was silent. Treading so closely to the topic of David’s death was dangerous business.
Claire once again found herself at the center of a pity party and didn’t like the feeling. Before it got weird, she offered the best explanation. “Probably just another day in the life at the office.” Sometimes, when she’d asked about David’s day at work, he had said something to the effect of, “Just another day in the life. I’d rather leave it at the office and focus on us.”
Zeke returned the photograph. “I didn’t know about him taking Oliver to a baseball game. Actually, I didn’t know he’d hung out with him outside of the few times here.”
Everyone shook their heads, assuring her they didn’t know either.
“That’s the Orioles stadium down in Sarasota, right?” Zeke asked.
Claire nodded.
“What a cool thing to do for him,” Zeke said. “Taking him to a baseball game.”
She smiled, trying to ignore the thoughts of betrayal. Of course, David had had a life at this office that she hadn’t always been caught up with. That was the way office life was. But still. Helping a young boy was the kind of thing he would have mentioned over dinner. Unless he was hiding it to protect her. Her stomach churned.
Claire wasn’t thinking clearly. She looked at Whitaker, encouraging him to take over.
Whitaker read her look and asked Zeke and the others, “Where is Oliver? Or where was he? Any idea how we can find him?”
“Yeah,” Eliza said, apparently eager to get a word in. “I don’t know if he’s still there, but David said he was living in a group home down the street, that big gray house with the white columns. Actually, I saw it for the first time shortly after David died. For a second, I thought I should go tell Oliver the news of David’s passing, but I didn’t know they were still in touch.” At Whitaker’s urging, Eliza shared specific directions.
“What’s this all about?” Zeke asked. “Trying to learn more about David?”
Claire suppressed a rising sadness and looked at everyone. She didn’t want them to see her fragility. Sticking the photograph back into her purse, Claire said, “David was writing a book when he died. About a man helping save a child from a group home. Now we know his novel was inspired by Oliver.”
Zeke looked at Claire and then Whitaker. “So now we know why you’re standing here.”
“Yeah, Whitaker is helping me research the story.”
“And to write it,” Whitaker added. “I’m finishing the story for her. I don’t know if any of you knew, but David was a heck of a writer.”
Claire choked up. It was the first time Whitaker had gone public with the news that he’d taken on the project.
“Oh yeah,” Zeke said. “He loved to talk about writing. He mentioned he was working on something. I’m glad you’re going to finish it for him.” Zeke looked back at Claire. “Please let us know what we can do to help. Of course I want to read it the moment it’s ready. I’m sure we all do.” He looked back at Whitaker. “Make sure you do David justice. He was one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
Whitaker offered a nod, and Claire smiled. “Thanks, Zeke.” Though inside, she wasn’t smiling. She was questioning Zeke’s kind words. Apparently, no one knew who David truly was. She felt a tectonic shift of anger deep inside.
When they returned to the car, Whitaker dropped into the passenger seat. “They’re a nice group.”
“Yeah, David loved working there.” Claire slid into her side and returned to the more important topic. “Did we really just find him? I guess Orlando is Oliver.”
Whitaker closed his door. “I think we’re hot on his trail.”
What Claire failed to mention was that she was scared to death.
Showing he was there for her, Whitaker reached past the empty Gatorade bottle in the cup holder and took Claire’s hand. “Hey.”
Claire let out a sigh and turned to him. She had yet to turn on the ignition. The parking lot was empty of pedestrians.
